


Gear shift

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domesticity, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Vomit Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Steve gets a migraine while at work, and Bucky flexes his caretaker muscles.





	Gear shift

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt for Tumblr (find me @builder051).
> 
> This is set in powers/no powers choose your own adventure.

Bucky has every cupboard open.  He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, gazing at the contents.  He tries to remember what’s in the fridge, add it all up, and divide by the possible recipes swirling around his brain.  They don’t have pumpkin, and everything in this month’s Food Network magazine is all about the seasonal gourd, so that takes the possibility of trying something new off the table. 

 

They do have an excess of rice, though.  A few half-used bags clutter one of the central cupboard shelves. And that could go with…sausage and peppers?  Bucky checks the fridge and nods contentedly once he affirms the necessary ingredients are present. 

 

He has time before he needs to start dinner, though.  He’s already finished his shift at the VA, but it’s still early afternoon.  Steve won’t be home for a few hours at least. 

 

Bucky flops onto the couch and turns on the TV.  He surfs to a classic movies channel and leans back to enjoy what looks like the end of __Some Like It Hot__.  He only gets a moment to glance at black-and-white Marilyn Monroe before his phone starts ringing loudly.

 

Steve’s name flashes on the caller ID.

 

“Hey, what’s up?”  Bucky says when he answers.

 

It’s Nat’s voice on the other end of the line.  “You drive now, right?”

 

“Um, I can,” Bucky replies, not going on to say that he still doesn’t have a license.  “What’s going on?”

 

“Your boy’s sick.”

 

“Really?”  Steve has an immune system of steel.  Barely gets sick.  Recovers at lightning speed. 

 

“Yeah, he just excused himself from a meeting to go barf,” Nat reports.  “So I thought I’d play nurse and call someone to pick him up from school.”

 

“Ok, um,” Bucky starts.  “Where is he now?  Is he ok?”

 

“Still in the bathroom,” Nat says.  “I’d go in and check, but then people would think something else was up.  If he’s not out in a minute, I’ll send Clint on a reconnaissance mission.”

 

“Is it a stomach thing, you think?” Bucky asks.

 

“He’d been getting all pale and squinty for a while, so I’d say maybe more of a head thing?” Nat poses.

 

“Fuck.”  Bucky’s had his share of paralyzing headaches, and Steve’d tiptoed around, working through trial and error to care for him.  He doesn’t think Steve’s had a migraine before, and Buck’s always been relieved Steve doesn’t empathize because at least it means he’s free from the pain.

 

“Yeah, I could get you a Christmas ornament with ‘baby’s first migraine’ engraved on it,” Nat jokes, but it’s not exactly funny.

 

“Is he ok?” Bucky asks, ignoring the jibe and going right to concern.  “I mean, is he, like, freaking out?  In a lot of pain?”

 

“He was holding it in pretty good,” Nat says. 

 

“Ok, I’ll…I’ll be on my way here in a minute.”  Bucky mentally runs through the route to the SHIELD building, ensuring he knows where he’s going.

 

“Ok, good,” Nat says.  Then there’s something like a small scuffle on her end of the line, and couple disconnected mumbles carry to Bucky’s ear.

 

“…Who’re…?  My phone… What…?”

 

“Just… No prob…”

 

There’s a loud crackle, and Steve’s slightly croaky voice comes on as he’s evidently stolen his phone back from Nat.  “What did…?  I’m fine, don’t do…”

 

“Stevie?  You ok?” Bucky asks.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve repeats, sounding breathy.

 

Nat must be leaning in close; Bucky clearly hears her say, “Yeah, Mr. I-can-barely-open-my-eyes.  Very believable.”

 

“I’m really ok,” Steve says again.  “I can deal with a headache.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to, not one like that,” Bucky says.  “I’ll come pick you up.”

 

“No, don’t, I don’t…If you get pulled over…”

 

“It’ll be fine.  I’m on my way.”

 

“Buck, really, you don’t…” Steve trails off.  Bucky imagines him riding a wave of pain.

 

Nat chimes in again, though this time her words are clearly meant for only Steve.  “Let him, ok?  He can be your hero sometimes.”

 

“See you in a minute, Stevie,” Bucky says, then he hangs up. 

 

Bucky shoves his feet into shoes and grabs the car keys from the hook by the door.  He backs out of the garage and cruises out to the main road.  He stays anxiously at the speed limit all the way to SHIELD, giving the lone police car he passes no reason to pull him over.

 

It’s a low-traffic time of day, so it doesn’t take long for Bucky to slide into the parking lot and stop the car beside Steve’s bike.  He’ll have to arrange for someone to drop it off later.

 

Once through the huge glass doors at the entrance of the building, Bucky’s met with the security desk. He’s visited Steve at work before, but he still gets a flash of anxiety about having to talk to someone he doesn’t know and show an ID he doesn’t have.

 

Maria is behind the desk today, though, and she just waves at Bucky.  “You get him feeling better, ok?” she says as he passes.  Word must travel fast around here.

 

Bucky navigates through a maze of sleek cubicles until he gets to Steve’s row.  Nat’s standing in her cube’s doorway, and she gives Bucky a sympathetic half-smile as he approaches.  She points him across the aisle to Steve’s cubicle, and Bucky sighs at the sight of him.

 

Steve’s bowed forward, arms folded on his desk, with his head buried in the crook of one elbow.  Even the back of his neck looks pale. 

 

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky whispers.  He brushes his fingers gently on Steve’s shoulder, trying not to lay on too much pressure in case the contact is painful.  “Ready to go home?”

 

Steve raises his head.  His eyes are half-lidded against the florescent lights overhead.  “I, um.”  The print of his sleeve is indented into his forehead, and there’s a wrinkle of pain between his eyes.  “Yeah.”

 

“Ok, let’s go.”  Bucky slings Steve’s backpack over his shoulder, then keeps his hand on Steve’s lower back as they traipse to the car.  Bucky’s glad it’s cloudy outside, and Steve’s face relaxes slightly as soon as they’re out of the building.

 

In the vehicle, Bucky immediately rolls down all the windows.  “This is gonna be cold,” he murmurs, “But you’ll thank me later.”  He hopes the autumn breeze will help keep Steve’s stomach in place if he’s still feeling nauseous. 

 

School is letting out, so the drive home is lengthened by three separate 15-mile-an-hour zones.  Bucky doesn’t complain, though, and Steve’s jaw is clamped shut.  At least the slow speed ensures all stops are smooth.

 

After the car is safely back in the garage, Bucky swings around to open the passenger door.  Steve shuffles into the house and pauses in the middle of the hallway.  Bucky squats to untie Steve’s shoes for him, then straightens up, resting his hand on Steve’s hip.  Steve leans into Bucky, resting his head on Bucky’s stump shoulder. 

 

“Alright,” Bucky soothes.  “Do you think you’re gonna throw up again?  Or do you want to lie down?”

 

Steve sighs.  “I don’t… Just… fuck this.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky whispers.  “I did read somewhere that orgasms can help headaches…”

 

“That’s…no.”

 

“Yeah, I never really felt up to trying it out either.”  Bucky tries not to laugh. 

 

“I’m just…” Steve breathes.  “Sorry.”

 

“No,” Bucky reassures.  “When something in your head short circuits, it’s not your fault.”

 

“Don’t want you to have to worry about me.”

 

“I don’t have to,” Bucky says.  “I want to.  And I think I’m pretty good at taking care of you, too, when you need me to.”  He turns his head to press his lips to Steve’s temple and ensure there’s no trace of fever. “You want upstairs or down?

 

“Where’re you gonna be?” Steve asks.

 

“Right beside you, punk.”


End file.
